Black Hole Soul

I don't believe in black-holes;
they never made much sense to me,
but if I had to explain how I feel lately
with one analogy:
a black hole it would be

I've taken in so many things,
across the U.S.A. and overseas;
In high school, I was a bizzare creature,
eager to but far from easy to please.
I hoarded money
as well as the sight of my name in print,
by nature I had a genial soul,
but year after year I wasn't treated right

After that, my grandmother died;
she was always benevolent and on my side
but sometimes there are things
you just can't set right;
I love her for how hard she tried

In college, I made a friend named Willie;
he was one of the best I ever had
and he was a great influence
though most would consider him pretty bad
were I to say he taught me to drink
till I was positively drunk,
or that he sold his plasma to buy LSD,
but Crazy Willie was as free as a dove
in matters of comraderie and love

And after that I met a girl
and like a fool
let her into my secret world;
without stoking dying anger
I can't tell the tale
but she wasted precious years,
broke my pride,
taught me how to wail

And then there was black Irish Patrick;
He was tough and athletic
but way more than me he was emotionally sick:
we smoked Js and drank Glenfiddich
till the walls came down all the way to hell;
really, he couldn't see me but I wish him well

But this is no auto-biography;
writing one'd only depress me
and wouldn't help you to see
anything useful honestly

Even as you read,
an energetic Thai rice farmer
(water above his knees)
barefoot strides through his field
happy at the prospect of another good yield

And over the Atlantic sea
flies a giant, miraculous airplane
full of modern people on modern business,
yet mostly they think paradise awaits
though they zoom through heaven empty

Then there was Christina,
a kindly junkie aging way too fast,
who'd clean and cook for me
while we shared bottles of my champagne

And whales and sharks swim through the sea
sensing without "knowing" their world
has changed too rapidly,
and the quaill still roam the red-sandy wooded mountain
which gave my youthful self gifts of tranquillity

Rare is the mind that could stretch to fathom
the sum of incredibilities which have been shown to me,
I've known vast possibilities of abundance and love
and seen apocalyptic horrors in "the land of the free"

But though I can write occasionally,
as scientists say a few rays of light
from a black hole slip free,
these dreams I need to express
press painfully against my chest,

and swirl hellishly in my soul